


i have never seen snow

by theroadverytravelled



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Other, Pining, Smut, Voyeurism, but there's always some sort of voyeurism with the cluster no?, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroadverytravelled/pseuds/theroadverytravelled
Summary: He’s thinking of red lace. He doesn’t want to be thinking about red lace, but his brain’s stopped doing the things he wants it to do for a good while now. He’s thinking of Kala. And he doesn’t want to be thinking of Kala. But all sorts of other wants thread through him too, like swimmers slicing through a busy pool.Missing moment from episode 1 of season 2 "Happy F*cking New Year"; post Kala/Rajan botched first time and Wolfgang birthday sex, and pre-Kalagang snow fight.
Relationships: Wolfgang Bogdanow/Kala Dandekar
Kudos: 22





	i have never seen snow

It’s a ridiculous hour of the too-early morning. Wolfgang had fallen into a fitful sleep and comes awake in slow waves, until finally he gets on his back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. He’s lost track of the minutes, only vaguely tuned in to the faint pulsing at the base of his skull — the thumping music, thronging bodies and endless shot glasses of the night earlier blended into one. 

He’s thinking of red lace. He doesn’t want to be thinking about red lace, but his brain’s stopped doing the things he wants it to do for a good while now. He’s thinking of Kala. And he doesn’t want to be thinking of Kala. But all sorts of other wants thread through him too, like swimmers slicing through a busy pool, and his brain wants to follow them all.  


He remembers a few nights ago. The curves of her under that red lace, bronzed skin glowing, her hair tousled like her fingers had been through it, like she had spent some time arranging it, for — he wants to put his hands on it, in it, wrap it around his fingers, give it a little tug. He wants to feel the delicate roughness of the lace against her skin, feel the different soft silkiness of both. 

In his treacherous brain, Kala is on her knees and elbows, her pert round ass in the air and pressed against him. In the dark of his bedroom, his hand travels surely to his cock, stirring as his memory blends the woman he actually fucked and Kala, wrapped and delectable and shy, breathtakingly gorgeous and his for the taking. This Kala is gasping, a sound Wolfgang’s heard enough, being the accused demon she claims upended her life. But in his mind, her shocked little sounds end in soft, keen sighs. He imagines her long fingers tightening in the sheets, her teeth catching on her plush bottom lip, as he pounds into her from behind. He imagines her so wet and hot around him, conjures the sight and sound of their skin slapping and how that would turn them both on even more. He remembers the playful spanks he gave the other woman to get a rise out of the real Kala, wonders at how the round curve of Kala's ass would fit in his hand, how the flesh would give under his palm, how he would soothe the sting with reverent caresses, following pain with pleasure.  


The hand on his cock stills, his steady, slightly desperate pumps halting.  _It was her first time,_ his brain suddenly supplies. Wolfgang can’t even remember his first time beyond vague impressions. Careless and quick. Gotten over with. And if he’s been anyone else’s first time after those feverish teenage years, he’s certainly not aware of it. He knows he’s not a gentle lover; he’s found no need for it, no grand desire for it that serves his wants, no demand from his partners. Not the way he moves through them, the way he sees them looking at him like he’s something dangerous, like they want something dangerous. He knows how to give them that. But Kala… 

He can’t imagine what their first time would be like, but he knows it’s not with her on her knees, where he can’t see her face. It’s not with him grabbing at her and slapping her ass as he chases his pleasure. He remembers the faint memory of her lips ghosting against his behind a curtain of those wild curls before she rose up, the quiet hesitant smile on her face before she opened her eyes to him under her instead of Rajan. The scene unfurls before him (and at the edge of all his wants, a small part of him senses Lito pulling up a chair and getting comfortable, eyes sharp and focused) and he works out where things should be. 

Kala on his lap, her arms around his neck. Him sitting up against the pillows and the headboard, hands skimming her sides, squeezing her breasts, full in their red lace cups. His hands on her waist, gripping her thighs, her ass, pushing her against his erection, his hands cupping her shoulders, her cheeks, finally in that goddamn hair — everywhere. Kissing her breathless until she grinds against him, pressed close, licking into her mouth, rasping his stubble against the long graceful line of her neck to see what kind of sound she’d make, cataloguing every sound she makes. 

His body sliding underneath hers, until her knees and thighs bracket his head. Her fully, completely naked above him, his hands lowering the wetness of her onto his mouth and holding her there. Her hands in his hair, her fingernails scraping against his scalp, her hands on her own tits, plucking her nipples — fuck,  _his_ hands on her tits. They’re flipped over now, Kala on her back, Wolfgang still between her thighs with her nipples in his mouth, fingers stroking her pussy, fingers sliding into her. Scheiße, how would she taste? Would she want to taste herself on his mouth? Wolfgang brings up his knees on the bed, braces himself as his hands coat his cock in his own slick. It takes him a moment to recognise the ragged breathing in his ears is also his own. 

How would she feel around him, under him and pressed into the mattress, heels digging into his ass, her clever hands roaming all over his body? Would she say please, would she call to her precious god, would she say his name? 

He’s so fucking close. He throws an arm over his eyes, returns from his darkened sparse bedroom in Berlin to the bedroom scene in his mind. Kala’s quivering beneath him, her warm brown eyes bright and liquid before screwing shut. Her kisses are frantic and sloppy, and he loves that, loves them mouthing at each other like they can’t bear to stop. He’s driving into her, hard, just like she saw him do that night. Did she want him then? Did she imagine herself on the other end, like he did? 

When he feels the coiled tension and building arousal in him ascend and release, he leaves his body somehow — it’s a now-familiar feeling ever since he became part of a cluster, but it’s also something new, something for just right now, for him. For her, too. Kind of. He wonders, what would she look like, feel like, sound like, smell like, when she comes? Shuddering and crying out above him, thighs clamping sudden against his ears with her musk flooding his nose and mouth? Watery half sobs and fingers seeking out his free hand when she’s on her back with his tongue and fingers deep inside her? Eyes liquid and wide as her back arches beneath him, breasts thrusting up into the sweaty skin of his bare chest, pulling at his hair near enough to tearing, gasping his name into his mouth? 

His ears ring for what feels like a very very long time, his body vibrating with the comedown. Seeing his come dry on his stomach is almost a jolt — real and not real. All the things he doesn’t want and all the things he wants at once. Everything fuzzes and fades. He thinks he pulls some tissue from a box on the floor and wipes himself clean enough before he rolls over and falls into a deep sleep.

When Wolfgang wakes up again, everything looks different to the quiet dark of the night, to the warm plush room of his imagination where he and Kala took each other apart. The light is grey, he knows it’s past morning but he doesn’t know by how much. He lies there with his cheek mashed against his pillow, blinking at the window for several minutes before he realises — it’s snowing. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if it was clear but Lito's there in a tiny way because I imagined him helping Wolfgang "direct" the imagined scene like he kinda did with Wolfie's showdown with Steiner. 
> 
> Also the snow fight is one of my favourite Kalagang scenes, don't get me wrong but I was always confused by this episode because if the Cluster's birthdays are in August, would it be snowing in Berlin?? ANYWAY, as I was writing this I also thought about how when Wolfgang hears Kala laughing at the snow, he mentally files that away as both "Sounds he wants to hear more often" and "Sounds he wants to hear in bed and then interrupt with something wicked." 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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